Chapter 29
Callum
Ican’t stop pacing what’s left of my cabin. Half the structure is gone—the wall nearest where the portal opened is nothing but splintered timber and scattered debris. The bed where we were lying minutes ago sits exposed to the night air, sheets still tangled from our bodies.
Every muscle screams at me to run, to fight, to tear through dimensional barriers with teeth and claws. But there’s nowhere to go. Nothing to attack. Just destruction where moments ago, we were—
The pain is unlike anything I’ve felt. Not physical. Worse. Like someone reached inside and ripped out something essential while I watched. I can feel her terror across dimensions—feel her pain echoing mine in a way that’s driving me fucking insane.
I slam my fist into a support beam that’s barely standing. Blood wells from my knuckles. I don’t feel it.
“Callum.” Dane’s voice comes from somewhere distant. “We need to focus.”
I snarl, spinning toward him. My wolf is too close to the surface, vision bleeding amber around the edges. Rhonan and Rafe stand beside him, all of them watching me with wary eyes. Ben moves methodically through the wreckage, cataloging what happened with military precision.
“There were six of them,” he reports, voice clipped. “Portal signature matches Faelan’s energy pattern from previous encounters.”
Nova approaches carefully from the doorway, her expression tight. “They timed it perfectly. Surveillance had to be more sophisticated than we thought.”
My breath comes in ragged gasps. The raw wound where our connection should be burns like acid in my chest. I can feel Lyanna being pulled further away, the pain intensifying with distance.
“Tell me how to reach her,” I growl.
“Dimensional barriers can’t be breached without—“ Dane starts.
I punch the beam again, harder. My knuckles split. I don’t give a fuck. “Find. A. Way.”
Some part of me knows I’m toeing the line—snapping at my Alpha, pushing when I should be planning. That part can go to hell. Life isn’t worth living without her in it.
Ben continues his assessment, professional detachment holding him together. “They left magical signatures all over. Derek’s tracking the portal pathway now. Might give us coordinates on the other side.”
Wolf howls echo from the woods—pack members responding to the attack, to their Alpha’s distress, to the violation of territory. To my agony that’s bleeding through pack bonds.
Another wave of pain crashes through the partial mate bond. I double over, a raw sound tearing from my throat that’s neither human nor wolf. I can feel her—terrified, humiliated, in pain—across an impossible distance.
Movement at the shattered doorway.
Evren strides in, still in formal dragon delegation attire but with combat readiness in every movement. Three dragon specialists follow—portal mages and tactical coordinators. His gold-flecked eyes take in the destroyed cabin, my bloodied knuckles, Dane’s grim expression.
“We felt the ward breach,” he says without preamble. “Faelan’s signature was unmistakable.” He looks directly at me. “Where is she?”
The agony in my face is answer enough.
Evren’s expression hardens. “We brought portal specialists for the official transport—to take Lyanna to the wedding. Once we allied with your pack, I kept them close.” His jaw tightens.
“Faelan’s signature on that breach—he didn’t come through your wards.
He went around them. Created a portal directly into the cabin using old court coordinates, bypassing your perimeter entirely.
” He looks at the destruction. “Once his spy stopped reporting, he knew we’d turned. This was his contingency.”
Dane moves to my side, Alpha presence cutting through my spiraling rage. “Lodge. War room. Now.” His voice brooks no argument—not from me, not from anyone. “We’re getting her back.”
The Lodge’s main room transforms into a war zone of information and strategy in seconds.
Evren’s dragon delegation spreads intelligence scrolls across the long table, revealing elaborate maps of Gleann na Sidhe’s palace.
The crystalline layout glows with dimensional markers, each portal access point highlighted in pulsing magical script.
My hands stop bleeding and begin to heal. The pain doesn’t matter now. Not while Lyanna is—
I force myself to focus on the tactical display. The wound in my chest screams like a living thing, but I have to function. Have to think.
The three dragon portal specialists work over a shimmering projection in the center of the table—a magical reconstruction of the portal’s signature, captured from the residue at my cabin.
Their hands move in synchronized patterns, tracing glowing sigils that map the dimensional pathway.
The lead specialist—a woman with silver-streaked hair—mutters incantations while the others catalog frequencies and cross-reference ward structures.
“Faelan’s extraction team used modified royal court signatures,” Evren says, pointing to symbols on the palace layout. “The timing wasn’t random. They’ve been watching, waiting for the perfect moment of vulnerability.”
I lean over the maps, scanning entry points. “Where would they take her?”
“The Silverthorne family quarters, initially,” Evren replies. “But for the ceremony? Here.” He points to a massive crystalline chamber near the palace center. “I’ve heard through my channels that the Marriage Tribunal convenes in less than eighteen hours.”
Nyxiana enters, frost magic still crackling around her fingertips. Her eyes meet mine briefly—she understands exactly what’s happening to me. I can see it in her expression.
“I saw him,” I say, the words rough. “Phil Dawson’s face, right before she was taken. Just for a second through the shattered wall before he vanished.”
The reaction is immediate. Nova’s expression hardens into something dangerous. Dane’s fists clench. Derek’s jaw tightens. Rhonan moves closer, battle-ready tension radiating from him. Ben and Kari exchange sharp glances—they remember what fighting that bastard cost us.
“Faelan.” I spit the name like poison. “It was him. Behind all of it—the contamination, Caelynn, the surveillance, now this.”
“Bold move,” Ben growls. “Using the same persona after we already exposed him once.”
Frost crackles faintly as Nyxiana steps forward. The temperature in the room seems to drop with her focus. “Faelan’s magical signature is unmistakable,” she says, sliding her findings beside Evren’s intelligence. “He’s gotten bolder—leaving traces that any skilled practitioner could identify.”
“Or he wanted us to know,” Ben mutters, joining the portal specialists. His military mind is already translating magical theory into tactical planning.
Pack warriors gather around the room’s edges, watching. Waiting. Ready to follow me into hell if I ask it. The weight of their loyalty should comfort me, but all I can feel is the jagged, burning pain where Lyanna should be.
The lead portal specialist turns from the window, locking eyes with Nyxiana. “We can recreate the pathway. Faelan’s signature left clear dimensional coordinates. Portal magic is possible.”
I stand paralyzed for a moment as her words sink in. Portal coordinates. A way to Lyanna.
“Could be a trap,” Ben says, voicing what everyone’s thinking. “Faelan left those signatures deliberately.”
“Maybe.” Dane’s jaw tightens. “But we’re not leaving her there regardless.”
The burning wound in my chest ignites with new purpose. The pain’s still there, but now I can use it.
“How soon?” I demand, moving to the war table.
Nova’s expression turns grave. “Time moves differently in Gleann na Sidhe. For every hour that passes there, seven hours pass here on Earth—time moves faster for us.” She lets that sink in before continuing.
“The wedding is set for tomorrow, midday in fae time. That’s roughly eighteen fae hours—which translates to about five days here. ”
“Five days,” Ben says, some tension easing from his shoulders.
“Don’t get comfortable.” Nyxiana’s voice cuts through the brief relief. “The portal signatures are already degrading. The longer we wait, the harder it becomes to recreate the pathway. And Faelan’s already moving—the kidnapping proves his network alerted him when his spy went dark.”
“He locks everything down,” Dane finishes grimly. “We go at first light. Use the time difference to our advantage—hit them when they’re not expecting it.”
Ben spreads out a map marked with entry points that Evren’s portal specialists identified. His fingers trace a precise path through the palace gardens.
“Small strike team,” he says, voice clipped and professional. “Five, maybe six. Any larger and we risk detection before extraction.” He taps a location near private chambers. “Insertion here, hours before the ceremony, when security transitions for the preparations.”
“Guards change patterns during ceremony preparations,” Evren adds, leaning over the map. “There’s a window when surveillance shifts focus to the ceremonial chambers. That’s our opening.”
Nyxiana steps forward. “The portal recreation is possible, but it requires massive power channeling. I’ll need at least four other magic users working simultaneously to stabilize the pathway.”
Dane nods. “I’ll reach out to Elysia and Lachlan—have them summon two of the portal guardians stationed near Gleann na Sidhe. If they respond quickly, they can anchor the outer wards before we open the gate.”
“I’ll coordinate communications,” Derek says, laying small, enchanted, devices on the table. “These will allow team members to stay in contact across realms. Short-range but effective.”
Nova moves beside Evren, studying the palace layout.
“The ceremony follows strict protocols. Seven binding moments—invocation, oath seal, energy binding, judgment call, decree, final chant, ascension flare.” She taps two points.
“Here and here—the tribunal will be most vulnerable to legal challenge.”
“I’m going,” I state.
“Then you pick your team,” Dane says. “Small and fast. Six, maybe seven.”
I scan the room, calculating. “Ben. Rhonan—diplomatic leverage if this turns political.” My eyes find the other dragon prince. “Evren, if you’re willing. Derek for tracking.”
“Rafe for magical support,” Ben adds. “He’s got the raw power if things go sideways.”
I nod. Six. Small enough to move fast, capable enough to fight our way out if we have to.
Around us, warriors straighten—ready, silent, waiting for the order that hasn’t even been given.
Nyxiana nods sharply. “Portal stability depends on how long we can hold it. The more power we channel, the longer the window—but it’s not infinite. Move fast.”
I feel the pack’s energy shift around me. The hopeless rage that consumed me minutes ago has transformed into deadly focus. We have a plan. We have a target. We have a timeline.
Through whatever fragile thread still connects us, I send a single thought toward Lyanna: Hold on. I’m coming.
The pre-dawn air bites sharp against my skin as I pace the compound’s edge. Shadows still blanket the valley, but frenetic energy crackles through our territory. We could have taken days to prepare—the time difference gives us that luxury. But every hour she’s trapped there is an hour too long.
We launch at first light. Minutes now, not hours.
Near the Lodge entrance, Ben studies a glowing projection of the palace layout—the same magical reconstruction the dragon specialists created.
His finger traces entry points, pausing at key locations before continuing along extraction routes.
Derek moves methodically through communication devices nearby, testing each one with quick, practiced movements.
The soft crackle of magic-enhanced comms breaks the silence at regular intervals.
Across the clearing, Nyxiana stands with eyes closed, silver-white hair lifting slightly in an unfelt breeze.
The air around her shimmers with accumulated power—frost crystals forming and dissipating with each breath.
Lachlan, Elysia, and two fae portal guardians form a circle around her, their energies synchronizing in preparation for the unprecedented portal creation.
Evren moves between groups, his natural restlessness channeled into precise coordination.
Gold flickers in his eyes as he relays information from his specialists to Derek, translating dragon technical jargon into terms our pack can use.
Occasionally, he glances skyward where dawn will soon break, dragon fire leaking from the corners of his mouth when he speaks rapidly to his own people in Draconic.
I feel a tug through whatever connects us—sharp, aching, but surprisingly clear.
Lyanna is awake. Fighting. I can feel her determination pulsing across the dimensional barrier, a thin thread of steel they couldn’t sever no matter how hard they tried. The connection screams with pain, but underneath that agony lies something powerful—she hasn’t surrendered. Neither will I.
Dane approaches silently, coming to stand beside me. His presence carries the weight of Alpha authority, but he doesn’t speak immediately. We watch the preparations together, pack leader and warrior, both knowing the impossible odds.
“She’s one of us,” he says finally, voice low enough that only I can hear. “You’ll bring her home.”
I nod once. Words are unnecessary between us. When the mission launches, we’ll breach realms, storm a fae palace, and bring my mate home. Anyone who stands in the way won’t stand for long.
The sky’s edge begins to lighten imperceptibly. The rescue mission will launch soon. Impossible doesn’t matter. Only her return does.
She’s my mate, my healer, my future. Dimensional barriers can’t change that.